


silvers and sunlight

by mildwinters



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M, Gen, i took a tumblr prompts writing sort of thing and this is the stuff i wrote, many more tags to come if i ever end up writing them, will more characters see the light of the day? who knows. if i'm asked and when i write... then.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29668401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildwinters/pseuds/mildwinters
Summary: compilations from bunch of tumblr prompts. here's where you'll find the lot of them.
Relationships: Kaz Brekker/Inej Ghafa, Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky
Comments: 11
Kudos: 25





	1. start of a steady hope (kanej)

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: “Nothing in this entire jeweled city could compare to you.”

On the rare occasion that Kaz visited Ravka, Os Kervo was brimming with happiness. Every turn brought another smiling face, another jeweled tongue and flamboyance. Festivities prevailed across every corner, stalls spilling with goodies and customers, the city over-pouring into the grand day grounds to celebrate a Saint’s day. 

Tents billowed with the wind. Lights lit up the darkening sky as the day neared seven bells, awaiting the start of all performances. Acrobats lingered around in all their brightness and skillful glory, deep and dark skins littered with glitter and colour. They looked like embodiments of grace and splendour. Jesper went as far to imitate one of the performers with Inej, the two of them in perfect harmony while the performers gave them both another step to follow. Which, needlessly without a doubt, they heeded.

Kaz let his gaze wander around the encampment. It was strange to identify himself amidst them. Amidst people with time in their hands for festivities or even any interest for them. They'd strolled in to witness the raw moments of a day when all care for the world vanished except for the rapt attention they paid to the artists who in turn left them mesmerized. 

He wasn’t this poetic all the time. But Kaz had discovered a newfound interest in myths and stories. They reminded him of times before Jordie’s untimely demise, when their stupidity wasn’t rewarded with death. 

It was a sentiment, of a tentative ease from the wheel of work that struck many chords in him. The first time he’d watched Inej in the finest of silks she’d loved draping herself in, he’d lost his mind. He fell even more in awe with the smoothness of her movements and stillness of time when she arched high in the sky. Truly her silks were her feathers that day. The sheer joy on her face was unmistakable.

It was a sight that made him believe in miracles and magic. 

And the excitement of performing and being around such artists seemed to bounce and reflect off of every surface in the encampment. Wylan looked as awed as Kaz felt, a little flabbergasted and welcoming at Jesper’s joy. Nina joined them soon, dragging along another Fjerdan girl and encouraging her to participate. He spared the briefest of thoughts to grumpy Matthias, probably alive in the afterlife or bringing life to ice in his death. 

It was either that or he was waiting for his and Wylan’s ghost, stubbornly set away from learning the flute. He felt a sad smile trickle up his face though he expressed none of that sentiment. 

An odd word: family. It was a living word, and he saw it in the faces of the people he’d grown to call his associates, perhaps be lenient enough to call them his friends. After years of bottling himself up with vengeance and blood, of pooling it out for the city, for the justice that would never be served, this was a rare phenomenon. A feeling of being wanted, of being spared importance and value in the way that wasn't fear. All of this in a world that threw you over like a leaf caught to wind and then buried to dust. 

It made him want to live again. Seek and build a future, actively while at it, when the word had once been nothing but a distant dream. 

Inej snuck up to his side. “There’s a story of the old about the performers,” she said in greeting. “They say that one day after the creation of the earth and its beings, the soil had begun to grow dry, despite all the elements and their nurturing.”

He humoured her for a change. “Why?” 

“Well, the Saints, or the Creator, spoke with the wind that the reason for this drought was because the people’s souls were empty. So they asked, ‘What could be done?’ And the answer was to celebrate.” 

It didn’t make any sense. “Celebrate a drought?”

Inej shook her head. The headpiece she wore on her head as a part of her attire shook with the movement, threatening slowly to slide off her silky hair. More out of impulse than anything, Kaz found himself obstructing it, alarmingly conscious of the contact. 

And before she could reach to fix it herself, he was slowly reattaching the hook of her headpiece to her dark hair, breaths harsh and uneven at even the simplest of acts. “What did they celebrate?” he ground out, not as vehemently as he’d expected himself to. Good.

“This,” said Inej with a happy sigh. “To dance. To write and sing and perform and create. To bring others and make them see the joy of it. And as a parting gift, select people were blessed with the magic of theatre and performance, and the Suli make it a point to honour them. They have since gone to perform at the highest of courts and lowest of valleys. In the darkest nights and warmest days.”

Kaz nodded slowly, breathing easier than he had been since forever. “A quaint story to recount, mentioning the courts of Kings and their people,” he said. His eyes sought the golden head, no more a king than a commoner in the company, for the country had collapsed the continual hierarchy. He stood at ease, in interested silence for once while the person he least expected to animatedly talk spoke in excited whispers, a smile of her face that Kaz had once been sure she was perhaps incapable of giving. 

They shared a beat of silence, basking in the fair and fervour of the day. Inej spoke again. “You talk of being a monster, Kaz Brekker. But you should know that nothing in this entire jeweled city could compare to you.”

Kaz stilled. “I’m no more a lump of rock than a jewel, Wraith,” he said. “If anything, nothing in this damned universe could compare to you. Kings and Queens, remember? You might as well be one, if not both.”

What a fortune he earned from Inej’s bright laughter. Soon, the bells would ring, signalling the start of a steady hope that Kaz had never dreamed of before. 

He wanted to live. And he would.


	2. a star breaking its life (zoyalai)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I don't know you anymore."

The onlookers barely ever suspected anything. They only saw what they let them see: a striking pair of star crossed lovers, each drawn to one another while the audience marveled over the ingenuity in his gaze and the elegance in her step.

Watching them was tiresome, but Zoya had better prospects to entertain herself with.

Like relishing the pure horror on Nikolai’s face that he masked instantly when he realized that the man with the disfigured face was the man he still called his father.

“What else is he supposed to be?” he hissed. He had gestured her forward towards the room a few doors away, distant from the noise of the ballroom. It served for secrecy and emergency, neither of which was the case now. Zoya watched the King grow agitated, horribly at loss for words or sense or understanding at his backlash.

“He is no father of yours, Nikolai,” she deadpanned carefully. “He is enemy. The man who supports the banner that intends to dethrone you.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t tell me you have sympathy for him. You’re being unreasonable.”

Nikolai looked up. Zoya was appalled at the reddened eyes blazing with scathing anger. _At her _.__ “It wasn’t for you to decide to walk off on a little adventure of your own, Nazyalensky,” he said haltingly. “The least you could have done in your power was to tell the Triumvirate prior.”

It was true, but Zoya did not want to hear that. Her protests had been endless, coupled with the constant contemplation of the danger the country was inviting right in. And so she had taken matters into her own hands. “If you are implying that it was a mistake, then you’ll know better than getting an apology for that from me,” she stated.

Nikolai rubbed his palms over his eyes. Where had his senses vanished? His outrage was deeply unsettling but she trudged on. “Do you not realize that these sentiments you still harbour for Opjer are not… favourable for yourself?” she spat. “He is a despicable man trying to destabilize a war-torn country. To strip the throne of your daft conscience and your skill. If you were expecting me to watch that materialize, you were terribly mistaken.”

“I don’t need your explanation,” he sneered.

Zoya's nostrils flared. She matched his intensity and jabbed a finger at his chest. “But _I_ need one,” she hissed back. Nikolai’s scrunched up face only added to her rising fury. Her conscience countered her need to hurt him in the process of trying to make him see his idiocy but she couldn’t care less about it. “Why do you mourn him? He is nothing but trouble! One step into the palace with a face devastatingly alike yours and you would be signing your death warrant. Why are you so obstinate?”

“All I need is a reason why you ventured off on your own, Zoya!” he shot back just as vehemently. “This was personal, something I could decide on—”

"You just said you didn't need an explanation," she interrupted. Childish as it was, Nikolai's stupidity and lack of understanding was poison to her heart. “You did nothing. Were doing nothing! You are daft—”

“You would do better than to distrust me, Commander,” Nikolai said coldly, his jaw set. Zoya swallowed her bitterness. “He was to be thrown off the track. Adequate arrangements were made to rouse his path to the Palace. He was to be tailored or poisoned or done anything that could have prevented you from jaunting off to—”

She sucked the air out of his lungs. “Watch. Your. Words,” she reeled dangerously. “You are my King—”

“—but barely, isn’t it?” he choked out a mirthless laugh. He clutched the head of the sofa, leaning over and coughing. “Barely! You barely trust my counsel! You forget yourself, Commander. Is there truly no boundary to your ruthlessness?” he continued, eyes void of any humour and a pestilent smile. “What of the distance between us? Our goals? Your practicality—what has it brought you this time? Satisfaction to your pride? A check on your ruthlessness? Why, if this really was to brag about your powers, then how different is your hunger for power from any other?”

Her anger shattered like ash around her. She knew what he meant. This was ridiculous. Zoya saw the exact moment it dawned on him, the split second before the anger that had burned his senses away withered like a flame lost to the wind.

But Nikolai didn't dwindle. Why would he? Why would any of them? "The Triumvirate should have known about this, in the least."

"I wish _I_ was told about _this_ ," she accused. "About your spectacular plans that are always so bound to fail." She didn't take her words back, knowing that they stung Nikolai in the exact space she knew her words would. "About your obstinacy, lack of guile and foresight to understand the need for my actions when _you_ didn't take any and even if you did, you hadn't told me any of it." 

He averted his eyes from her. "Maybe so. But this is unforgivable."

Zoya expelled a bitter laugh. " _You_ are unforgivable, Nikolai Lantsov. King of Ravka, held back by sentiments of a man who had no care for you, nor will ever have." Cold ice washed over her, the chill far too sharp to not sting. Much against her better judgement, she ground out, "And nobody will, if you continue to keep your head in the clouds and refuse to see the danger in your sentiments." 

Nikolai's hands curled just as his lips did. "We're not all heartless and ruthless as you are, General Nazyalensky. We are all incapable of separating our head from our heart as you do so perfectly." 

"It would have hurt less if you told me you didn't know me at all, Nikolai." 

In the beat of silence that followed, Nikolai's shoulders slumped helplessly. "I don't know you anymore, Zoya." 

Zoya knew shame. It was a cringe she carried of her foolishness as a former acolyte that she refused to forgive herself for. But what good did it do to her? She'd made the mistake yet again with Yuri. She gaped at Nikolai, hollow and new; she saw it in his eyes. Shame, the filth that devoured you. 

"Nor do I," she countered. He was being unfair. Perhaps they both were.

She took one last look at him before turning on her heel. The bangles clattered against the scales on her wrist like a star breaking its life. He didn’t meet her eyes. He wouldn’t. In a feeble attempt to goad him, to truly hurt him though she knew she would regret this tremendously later, she said, “This should settle my demotion. Bring me the notice of teaching cloud animals to the Grisha.”

 _Ilska salvia fortro lighet._ It was an old Suli counsel. _Anger destroys the sage._

And it would now burn a country to dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for context, there's a theory i have for row that zoya, instead of shying away from her powers like the blurb seems to suggest, she will rather fully embrace them and experiment the shit out of it. 
> 
> so ofc she goes on to disfigure magnus opjer's face before he can even take step in the palace and nikolai, bc ofc, yk the reason why. and nikolai, for some odd or sentimental reason (that is obstructed by his anger at that particular moment) is mad about it before he can realize why zoya did it in the first place. 
> 
> after all, there is some foreshadowing in kos about zoya stepping over and nikolai not being as forgiving, so...
> 
> kudos, comments and thoughts are much appreciated! <3


	3. marvel and destruction at its finest (zoyalai)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> figured there ought to be some fluff after that train wreck of a chapter. enjoy <3
> 
> tw for guns, gun mention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "can you just hold my hand?"

Nikolai could hardly believe his own eyes. 

While Zoya had taken the responsibility on herself to secretly survey the encampment in her mission to prevent obvious danger, it had put their position with them and each other at a precarious risk that neither could afford. 

They’d barely scraped by, albeit as successfully and meritoriously as had been possible. It had also opened up a series of advantages, like spying on the military camp. And so there they were.

Ammunition towered over them, vast containers that wrapped something stenchful and distasteful smelling. Guns, missiles, rifles, more ordinary and exotic looking weapons lined the walls and long tables. Saints knew what was bringing the unpleasantness of the space. 

He recognized the genius of many contraptions in the arena, slightly dazed by the detail and care that went into assembling such units. Right alongside them existed other arms, ones he had no idea about. Zoya seemed particularly enraptured by the ordinary looking weapons, ones he was sure had no added significance to them as any other pistols.

Nikolai wondered if he was to be repulsed that the arms were to be used against his country or admired the intricate care that went into detailing them at the same time. This was marvel and destruction at its finest and as much as he despised them, he was mind blown all the same.

Zoya and he marched on intently, steps silent and breaths shallow, exchanging words and notes softly until words failed him entirely. 

He stood forth a contraption he was well acquainted with, having developed the design for it himself. This wasn’t where it was supposed to be. This wasn’t supposed to be anywhere; not with the Kerch, to whom he’d had to give some of these units up and definitely not with the Fjerdans, who shouldn’t have had any knowledge of this at all. 

Blood turned into frost under his skin. “This doesn’t seem real,” he awed. More in jest than not, he tapped on the shell of the metal softly. “Are  _ you  _ real, good sir?” It strung as he had expected it too, except a lot more duller in response and harsher in pain than he’d previously known. 

It didn’t help that he’d struck the exterior with his injured hand. Pain shot in white light through his nerves. Nikolai retracted his hand swiftly. 

“You’re ridiculous, Nikolai.” 

“Endearingly so, Zoya,” he replied, wincing as he rubbed at his knuckles in vain. He spoke strainedly. “Unless you and I are hallucinating the same dream, this looks very real.” He plucked at his plaster in vain. “And I know we are not, because you are not so formidable in my dreams.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, shooting him an imploring glance. “Do you believe me?”

“Always have and will,” he sighed. He rubbed his hand over his eye. “And I’m tremendously ashamed of the day, Zoya. You needn’t bring it up each time.”

She grit her teeth. “Who said anything about that day? All I’m implying is that we had a resource where we had none previously.”

The  _ izmars’ya _ stood audience to their fatigue. The Fjerdans were not supposed to have any knowledge of their inventions. And yet. “This can’t be good. If the Kerch are aligning against Ravka, we are in sore despair.” 

“What is the possibility of the Fjerdans stealing this from the Kerch rather than actively participating in a ploy for our doom?” she reasoned from next to him. She shook her head at his expressive surprise. She did that quite often with him. “I said  _ possibility _ . I don’t trust the Fjerdans nor their motive to side with the Kerch.”

“I’m bewildered at your optimism, Commander.” He held out bandaged hand. “Can you just hold my hand?”

“Why?” she said faintly, still glaring at the undersea sailing engine. “Is it detachable?” 

“ _ Saints _ , I hope not,” he laughed despite himself. The ghost of a smile flickered over her lips before it was gone. “This seems so surreal. I want to be sure I’m not hallucinating.” 

“I could very well blast you with lightning if that stirs your epiphany for being a human.” But she still encircled her palm around his wrist nevertheless, carefully strong around his injuries. “You look at those weapons there?” she continued, guiding his hand as a pointer at the ordinary looking weapons she’d been invested in earlier. “Ordinary rifles. But they’re lined with Ruthenium all over.”

“The bullets too?” 

Her grip loosened as she submerged deep into thought. “Perhaps,” she considered. That seems more lucrative than coating the guns in alloy. Except, firing the guns with a layering as such won’t hurt as much as it did before.” 

“And they could kill a _khergud_ soldier?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, they would.” 

“Grim,” he said sadly. “How much longer do we have to examine this place?”

“A little over a quarter hour. Shall we split?” she gestured at the insurmountable godown. 

He nodded decisively. “We meet by this chamber of… whatever distasteful substance this is,” he scrunched up his face. Zoya squeezed his hand tightly before disappearing around the turn. 


	4. admirable milestones (kanej)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “If I could, I’d hand you my beating heart on a platter."

The money was serving Kaz well. 

The cane he never parted with looked better built and neatly furnished. Its metal head gleaned under the buzzing lowlights of the place while the buttons on his coat glinted brighter. He looked better, even despite the still pale pallor of his face and his near consistent impassiveness. 

Ketterdam looked better too. Inej had been away for a month and had captured an array of swift scoundrels, ready to be testified at the jury of the court. It worked in great favour; they were slave owners, kidnappers and thieves and despite the price they cited was their net worth for a bail and then eventually gave up, it always fell short of the money they assumed they owned. 

Inej was the Wraith, a soundless spider for a reason. 

Dead bodies no longer lined the canals or the lay astray in the turning alleys, ready to assault the unsuspecting. The fog remained misty as ever but cleaner. It still hung with an acrid sense of wrongness that she might have been used to in her time in the city but the distance from it had struck the changes strange and square in the face. Something seemed askew. 

With a promise to investigate it sooner, Inej hopped on her way to the Slat. The unchanging and brooding building towered over her like a dark hug. She’d expected to find Kaz in his quarters but was met with the silent welcome of a birdfeeder, much to her surprise. Perhaps the stock exchange building then? 

The Crow Club’s lights warmed her pride as she noiselessly traced her way across the building. For a change, with its deep maroon silks and vibrant candle like looking lights that actually instead were powered by electricity, it looked cozy and homely. 

The least of all that she’d expected was to see Kaz, decked up in his usual but cleaner shirtsleeves, sporting a chef’s apron, barking orders minimally at times and peering at the operations from time to time. 

“Are you supposed to be a chef?” 

He turned at the sound of her voice before his shoulders slumped. Only a little, so as to not give away that he’d been surprised for once. He didn’t ease the tension of his shoulders. “Wraith,” he said coolly. She was home. 

She remained perched on the window sill, eyes widely assessing the newness of the place and the subsequent comfort. Kaz shouted something at the kitchens or ordered something from the boy to do. “How’s the Slat?” 

“Dead and empty,” came his answer. “It’s under renovation.” 

So it seemed was everything else. Despite the comfort of the place, Kaz seemed to have made the conscious decision of leaving the works in progress open to sight with adhering warnings all across accordingly. The little bit of the open staircase that looked ready to take a fall and reinvent debris. Or the part off to the distant corner from the vantage of her eye that looked like an unfinished extension to the kitchen. No doubt the games room looked equal parts appalling and admiring. “Do you miss it?” he continued.

“The Slat?” Did she? She’d spent years there, learning herself, learning the city and breathing its ways. But she'd found a better home now, in the rooms of the mansion that belong to the Van Ecks. A home with her family that was ready to take back off to Ravka, to resume their skills and performances. They'd extracted her promise and assurance that she would return home one day. The Slat was home too, in one sense. But... “I’m not sure what to think about it. Have you taken up residence here?” 

“Upstairs,” he answered. He settled into his office chair, gloved hands resting on the polished cane. “Too many people clamour up on the ground floor.” 

He gestured at the open balcony to the safe corner of the room. It opened up like a box at the theatre, the one she’d once been overly eager to visit and had nearly lost her mind when the gradiosity of the place overwhelmed her performance, enhancing it just as well. She saw what he was pointing to, the wide berth that he could use to overlook, literally and figuratively, the affairs of the kitchen and the dining in addition to the vast space for the games room. 

He pointed at many other newer things, occasionally quipping in on the news about the city and the stocks. “Does it surprise you that Ravka has shown interest in investing in this quaint club?”

“It’s an admirable milestone,” she said with a small smile, still enamoured by the growth of the club. 

“Your parents are expecting you.”

Inej nodded. “I will visit them after.” 

For the most part, they strayed to the silence they best knew, sizing one another up, relearning the people they were growing into. She recounted to him the wild risks of the contention from three nights ago that had helped her stealthily lead her to capture the men and other little adventures. 

Somewhere in the time, someone had deposited a little packet of what seemed like a parcel. She didn’t find any sorrow in leaving the place though a wish whispered into her ear of how it would be if she could dine at the place. There would be many more moments like these to share in the times she would return. And she would return, for more than the comfort of the place. 

“Take this,” said Kaz and pushed the parcel, a little box forth as she made to take her leave. It was steaming. 

“What is this?”

He coughed a bit. “If I could, I’d hand you my beating heart on a platter,” he announced, albeit awkwardly. Kaz drew his gloves off of his giving hand and pushed the wrapped package towards her. Her smile grew. “But that would be rotten. Take this instead.” 

She basked in the warmth of it, of a sun in the cold winter night. She couldn’t help her laugh. “Hutspot?”

Kaz nodded glumly. He looked like he wanted to say more, but stared out of the window instead. “Safe voyage. No mourners.” 

“No funerals,” she sighed, finding contentment in the bob of his chin and the hope of the dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments would be appreciated! thank you for reading! <3


End file.
